


Spacial Awareness

by Chibiness87



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Epiphanies, Episode Related, F/M, Introspection, bad timing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: She doesn't quite... fit.A B'Elanna introspective peace
Relationships: Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Spacial Awareness

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any Voyager fiction in _years _But I started rewatching the series, and this little nugget hijacked my lunch break, and, well, here we are.__

She's never felt like she quite.. fits.  
  
It's been that way all her life. Always too _human_ to be accepted as Klingon, never human _enough_ to be fully accepted by her father. By anyone.  
  
When her two selfs are separated by the Vidiian, for a moment she feels relieved. For a moment she feels like she might just be accepted. Be _whole_ , whatever that's supposed to mean. No longer feeling like she has to hide her face. Trying to explain it doesn't go quite the way she hoped, but given she doesn't even know what that was she's not too surprised.  
  
(What does surprise her is Tom tries to comfort her. Fails miserably, of course, but she can tell by the way his shoulders slump after he had at least set out with good intentions.)  
  
But if course she's not whole. Of course she's not accepted. And to make matters _worse,_ it turns out she needs her Klingon side to survive. She's too weak, too _human_ to live without it. Her forehead might be the only hint externally of her maternal line, but externally? Physiologically? An extra lung, extra strength, extra _her_. No, she'll never be human.  
  
Most of the time it's fine. Good, even. Sometimes though... sometimes she wishes she wasn't quite so... different.  
  
Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to fit... somewhere. Anywhere. The academy was too structured, the Maquis not structured enough, and now she finds herself adrift in the delta quadrant, still searching for a place to belong.

* * *

The air in her evac suite feels thin. Her extra lung processing the vital oxygen quicker than her human companion. It's not a competition, but if it were she would be winning.

Or losing.

She hopes she goes first. Is that macabre? Shes not sure. Maybe she's delirious. (She's definitely delirious). But she hopes she won't be the one left behind, floating in the endless void, alone at the end. Hopes fate will at least spare her that.  
  
She knows it isn't fair. She's stronger than he is, physically at least, but she can't, she _can't_ survive losing him. Not when she's finally come to accept that she loves him. Not that he knows that, of course. She's never been strong enough to risk him knowing _that_ about her. Her biggest failing. Her biggest weakness. She wonders of she can be strong now. No time like the present, after all. (It's not like they have a future.) 

She sees his eyes widen at her gasped confession. Words torn from her without real conscious thought as to what they could, _should_ mean. A truth finally acknowledged.  
  
Ah well. No time to regret it now, anyway.  
  
Her suit sounds a warning in her ear. Oxygen depleted. She's running on reserves. Feels the last of the clean oxygen expire. Her eyes feel heavy. Beside her she knows Tom is calling to her. Begging her to hold on. _To what_ , she wants to ask. But can't.  
  
Her eyes close.  
  
She comes to in sickbay, Tom still unconscious on the biobed at her side. Quicker to process the higher levels if oxygen, her extra lung which moments ago was signing her death sentence the reason for her rapid recovery.  
  
She's survived. They've survived.  
  
And she panics. What, exactly, does one do with a confession which was meant to be a death bed confession when death is no longer the outcome?  
  
In this case, she hides. She manages it quite well, until a turbo lift conspires against her. 15 decks, 4 different duty shift options, and more Jeffries tubes than she can count, and yet she is trapped next to the one person she has been trying to, and succeeding, in avoiding for the past two days, seven hours, 47 minutes and 29 seconds (but who's counting) with no way out. Well, no way to escape with dignity. She could of course ask for a new destination, but there is no way to do that without making it obvious.  
  
But maybe this is for the best. Maybe forcing the issue out into the open in a confined space will clear the air. Let them go back to the... whatever it is between then without making it a bigger issue than it is.  
  
_In fact, let's pretend I never said anything_. There. An out for both of them. Retreat with dignity.  
  
Only... he's not retreating. Pressing her back into a wall, telling her to shut up, and then his lips are on hers, hard and biting, a hint of teeth and tongue ,and oh, _oh_ , she has wanted this. His arm slides behind her, pressing into her lower back, holding her against him.  
  
She moulds into his space like she was always meant to be there.

She fits.

* * *

End

Thoughts?


End file.
